The Screaming Stone: The Otherworld Series Book 2 (8 page)

              “I understand,” replied a whispered response.  “But are you sure it’s not a little closer to home?”  Annie closed her eyes as a warm human presence closed the distance between them taking off a chill she hadn’t realized existed.

              “We both know that there are answers there that can’t be found here, I think we can both feel it,” she replied.  “Why did you follow me?”

              A gentle pair of hands settled on her shoulders and she felt herself unwillingly drawn back against a warm solid chest.  “That I would have thought was obvious,” he responded.

“Enlighten me.”

“No matter what I will always have your back,” he answered easily as he placed a quick kiss on top of her windblown head.

A stray tendril of his hair tickled her cheek and despite her earlier disposition found herself laughing at the strange sensation.  “When are you going to cut that mop of hair?”

“Maybe I’m like Sampson and it’s where I get my strength from,” he responded with a deep chuckle.  “Now Annie let me ask you a question,” he said as his voice grew serious.  “When was the last time she ruled your thoughts?  And I’m not talking about when you get angry,” he said resting his chin on her shoulder.  “Because aside from the magick she tends to spit out of you when you are angry I think a lot of that anger comes from you.”

She seriously contemplated the question before attempting to give an answer to something she still did not really understand.  “She never completely overtakes me she’s just sort of always there and speaks really loudly whenever I get really angry.  Honestly sometimes I feel like I am going crazy.  I just want to hear me in my head,” she finished summing up the real problem.  If her friends had not witnessed the strange events that had occurred over the past few days she would be checking herself into a hospital convinced she had had a mental breakdown.  The way things were now she still wasn’t convinced she hadn’t.  She turned to face her inquisitor.  Her eyes were first drawn to the small sword strapped faithfully to his hip.  He knew they were illegal but he insisted on carrying it with him even though she had begged him not to.  The corner of her mouth kicked up in a grin as her eyes found his face.  “You could get arrested walking around Salem with such a big sword.”

She felt his deep laugh resonate against her chest as he spoke.  “That’s what all the boys say,” he replied as he fluttered his amber colored eyes at her.

She slapped his shoulder in response as she shook her head in wonder.  Just a few short days ago this man who stood before her now was little more than a humorous boy full with wit and little else.  In some strange way they both had to come to terms with who and what they really were.  He was handling it so much better than she was.  After all it wasn’t every day you discovered you were a very direct descendent of one of the world’s greatest mythological heroes.  He was succeeding as well as she was failing.

“There’s the Robert I know and love,” she said responding to his joke.

“Annie,” he began as he cupped her face and brought her eyes to meet his.  “Tell at least me the truth; even if you can’t admit it to yourself.”

“Oh,” she said with a sarcastic snort.  “I have no delusions of happily ever after.  He sees what he’s lost,” she jealously spat out.  The venom in her voice surprised her.  She had never been prone to bouts of jealousy, but then again she had never met anyone worthy of the green emotion.

“And you? I was talking about you.”

“I’m not sure of much,” she reluctantly admitted.  “I just know that this,” she said pointing out over the ocean.  “Is a one way ticket; at the end I’ll know for sure who and what I really am.  What happens after that?  Well, not even Sam really had an answer for that did she?”

“You’re just going to keep ignoring the question aren’t you?”

When she didn’t answer he sighed heavily, she felt his hands grip her face tighter before slowly falling away to pull her even closer to him.  His arms wrapped around her and she willingly surrendered to the friendly, comforting embrace. 

“Then I’ll help you find what you’re looking for no matter the obstacle,” he whispered reassuringly.

“He’s a pretty big obstacle,” she reminded him.

“Yes,” he admitted.  “He is pretty,” she couldn’t help the snicker and snort that escaped her. Duncan was not pretty, he was beautiful. She wasn’t sure how Duncan would feel about Robert calling him pretty either.  “He is big and he is definitely an obstacle but I might have a way to take him out of the equation for at least a few hours.”

“Why am I suddenly very nervous Robert?”

“Because you know how devious I really am,” he replied with an evil sounding chuckle.

She was worried.  Robert could be devious, but he was also very inventive and clever.  They needed a way to get to Ireland.  As far as she knew there was only two ways to accomplish that, and taking a boat would take them past the deadline date of Midsummer.  The other option held some scary scenarios as well though.  How do you get an ancient Scotsman who couldn’t even handle a slow trolley ride onto an airplane?  And even if you could accomplish that how did you keep him calm?  Suddenly Annie realized what Robert had in mind.

“You don’t mean-?” she questioned in shock as she lifted her head to face Robert.

He was gazing up at the sky; squinting into the darkness.  He lowered his head and gave her a wicked grin.  “Can you think of another way?”

No, she couldn’t.  She only hoped that Duncan would see it that way too.

Chapter Seven

Inn and Out

He was adrift in a form that lacked physical presence.  His mind traveled through time and scattered, no one thread aligning with the next.  He was a boy; at home wandering the Heather covered Highlands, enjoying the feel of the open air on his wind chapped cheeks as his boyhood dog nipped playfully at his heels.  He was a ball of agony lying naked and cold on the shores of the Otherworld Loch, crying and shuddering over the loss of everything he loved.  He was a bairn in his cradle quietly cooing as his mother tended to one of the sick that always found her door.

That was when she appeared.  That was the first time he remembered seeing her.

In every scattered frame of his life this mystical journey showed him he could now see her.  Always hidden, yet always there; she remained still and silent as she watched over him.  The hood of her black cloak drawn low shielding her face from his view.  Even with his newly found perspective her identity was sheltered from his curious sleepwalker gaze.

He had felt her push and pull his whole life.  When he had wanted to go left she had pushed him to the right.  When his mother told him they had to flee Scotland and he had run away, it was her voice that had compelled him to listen and follow his mother.  She had guided and saved him from every disaster that threatened his wellbeing when he was young and it was by her hand he felt every harsh blow life unsuspectingly delivered.  He had felt her push and pull his whole life, but he did not know who she was.

Now she was calling to him again.  She was begging him for something.  Her weakened voice was quickly being overtaken as light crept in and the sound of the natural world found his ears.  He was unable to hear her pleas as he felt himself being pulled away, drawn out of the realm of sleep as his body began to take control of his mind.  She was becoming a small memory something easily forgotten once his eyes opened to the world beyond dreams.  In one last desperate attempt she sent a lunging image to snatch him back to her.  The last thing he saw before he awoke startled and frightened from his false sleep was the image of a strong silver hand reaching out to snatch him back from reality.

His eyes struggled to open as his eyelids refused to separate.  His throat and mouth had been stripped of moisture and his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth making speech almost impossible.  His muscles were sore and stiff and felt devoid of their usual strength.  The air around him was stale and thick with artificial smells too potent and flowery to be natural.  Only his ears appeared to be working properly and he would have given almost anything for them to immediately stop working.  Over the sounds of shuffling, hushed soothing sounds and whispered orders he could he the muffled agony of pain.  It was raw and heartbreaking to hear.  His mind clung to one thought, the last face and memory it had retained before strange visions had filled the darkness and overtaken him…Annie.

She was scared; she was alone, unprotected and in pain.  Chemical induced fear injected his stagnant muscles with new life as he blindly threw himself upward.  The sudden change in position made his head spin and he threw his arms outwards to try and regain his balance.  His legs, seemingly incapable of holding his weight, buckled beneath him.  The second sudden change caused his head to swim and his stomach to lurch in protest.  Without warning his head was struck by a hard object as his accelerated fall to the floor came to a quick and sudden halt.  Unable to break his fall the ground met his head suddenly causing a painful blow to his already throbbing temples.  Dazed, he lay motionless on the floor, unable and if he was honest with himself, unwilling to move.  His parched mouth refused to even let him groan in pain properly.

The fear that had induced his sudden movement quickly evaporated as his mind and stomach came to a quick decision on priorities.  First his stomach would expel the growing sickness it felt then, and only then, his mind could retake control of his body.  He was not looking forward to this.  His body clenched in a violent spasm as it prepared to rid itself of the vile contents of his stomach.

“He’s gonna be sick,” declared a voice that should have sounded familiar.  But since his brain and hence his memory was not allowed to be in control at this particular moment in time he could not give a name to that voice that he knew so very well.

“I see that,” retorted another voice.  His brain once again tried to put faces to those voices but his stomach was quicker.  He felt his head being shoved inside some sort of container right as his stomach emptied into it.

“Och, did ye no’ feed ‘im afore ye poisoned ‘im?” asked the first voice.

“You take care of yours and I’ll take care of mine,” spat back the second voice.

With his heaving stomach emptied Duncan felt his mind begin to refocus.  From the ongoing noises coming from the room he guessed there were three people in the room.  Two of them were speaking, or rather arguing in hushed tones, and a third sobbing loudly a few feet away from him.

His mind took quick stock of his body.  He felt no pain apart from his throbbing head, which had been battered at least twice maybe even more, that would account for his lack of memory and the horrific pounding that would not stop inside his head.  He dismissed his head as secondary only to his parched throat.  When his stomach begrudgingly agreed his raw voice managed to croak out his one word request, “Water.”

He heard footsteps, soft and light and felt the vibrations of the floor telling him his request was being attended to.  A few moments later he felt cool, soft hands on his back as they assisted him in rolling over.  His stomach clenched again, threatening to rebel but through sheer will he shut it down.  He felt his head being slowly lifted and elevated as cool water brushed against his lips.  He reacted greedily wanting to ingest a river’s worth to quench his hungry thirst.  The water was quickly taken away after only a mouthful.

“Easy,” whispered the soothing second voice.

His hands reached out without permission, clawing and grabbing at the being that withheld the liquid.  A hiss of pain froze his hands as they felt the delicate skin beneath his calloused grip.  “I’ll give you more,” the second voice promised.  “But only one sip at a time.”

He felt a cool cloth being placed over his brow.  He let out a slow delighted breath as the wet cooling sensation spread across his face, briefly covering and freeing his eyes from the substance that had sealed them shut.  “Try and open your eyes,” the second voice encouraged gently.

His eyelids strained under the effort but he finally succeeded in separating his upper and lower lashes.  His vision, although cloudy at first, had but one thing to focus on.  A cloud of red gold framed by the most beautiful thing his eyes had seen.  For a moment haunting hazy visions threatened to overtake his earthly vision but her smiling face chased them away.  His mouth curved up in a poor imitation of her smile and he closed his eyes just to inhale the pleasant sensation her presence gave him.

“Here take another small sip of water.  You’ll feel better in a few minutes,” she whispered pressing the cup of water to his lips once again.

He swallowed a small amount of the water she offered him as he lay content for the moment cradled against her soft form.  He tested his newfound sight by gazing up at her again.  “You’re alright,” he said forcing the words out of his still dry throat.  “Thought you were hurt, heard you crying,” he muttered sleepily.  He tried to reach out to her, tried to pull her beautiful face closer to his so he could look upon her better.  His arms found nothing but air and finally fell exhausted from his search to the ground beneath him.

“Drink some more,” she encouraged again.  This time she let him drink more.  When the cup left his mouth he was gasping for air.  “Do you think you can sit up?”

“Aye,” he eagerly replied.  He forced his muscles to respond to her request and his head immediately regretted the decision.  He shut his eyes as the world around him began to tilt ant twist.  His head fell back and was rescued from another harsh blow as she braced his back with her own body.

“No, no easy, go easy,” she coaxed him encouraging him to take his time.

He rested for a moment, content and comfortable against her soft form.  When the external world stopped spinning around him he reluctantly withdrew his weight from her body amazed that she had held him upright for so long.  With his eyes still firmly shut he supported himself and sat completely upright without her assistance.  She slowly pressed a hand against his chest guiding him backwards until he felt something solid and secure at his back.

“There do you feel that?” she asked.  “That’s a bed.  I want you to put your legs beneath you and push up.  I’ll guide you to lie back down on the bed,” she instructed him.  “Can you do that for me Duncan?”

“Aye, I’ll do anything ya ask,” he replied as he tried to smile blindly at her.  A bed sounded like a very good idea with her so near to him.

“Oh, may demons rip out me ears,” said a voice from his far right. 

He stilled for a moment hoping he had not let the comment about the bed slip out for all to hear.  He had been raised better than that.  He could think such things he just couldn’t say them out loud.  Especially, since they were not alone. 

“Shut up furball,” she hissed in response.

Although he thought he was incapable of such a response he snickered.  “Furball,” he repeated.  “Aye he’s a furball.  Ready when you are lass,” he said slowly pulling his legs up and prepared to give them all his weight.

“On three,” she instructed him.  “Ready, one, two, three,” she said as she pulled, he pushed and by some miracle his back found a soft bed and not the hard floor.  He was only mildly disappointed that she had not followed him down onto the bed.  Had they been alone, and truthfully if he had the strength, he would have capitalized on the predicament he found himself in.  It had been too long since he had kissed those soft lips.

His head spun, his mind remained covered in a thick fog, and his hands remained latched onto the physical being that had eluded him for so long.  “Stay with me, please, just a while longer Áine.”

Then the darkness of sleep took him once more to the land of dreams and nightmares.

Minutes, hours, days or weeks could have passed, all he knew was that his mind had collapsed.  Memories he could not recall living through and cloudy visions that terrified him fought for dominance in his broken mind.  Roaring metal dragons swallowed his friends whole as he remained still and numb unable to move to their defense.  What drove him mad were their smiling faces as they waved goodbye and then were gobbled up by the gigantic hungry beasts.  They seemed to go willing to their fate, without struggle and without fear.